Chess
by mispel
Summary: It's Michael's game. Sucre sees how it's playing out.


Chess

  
  


Sucre always thought chess was a slow, boring game for old men sitting in the park. He never tried to learn to play it. He had time for that when he got old. He might take it up when he had nothing better left to do with himself. Or maybe he'd go for checkers.

When he was a kid, Sucre used to watch old men playing the game on the front stoops. Only when it was raining or he was waiting for someone, he'd lean there with his hands in his pockets, fidgeting. He'd watch cars break through puddles on the street, splash the sidewalk. He'd look at the game only sometimes. His attention would wander. But not the old guys'. They were hunched over the board, creasing their already wrinkled heads. They were planning ten moves in advance. Sucre felt sorry for the pawns moved one square at a time by the hands of old men. He remembered how they got sacrificed like they were nothing.

"Ai, no!" he'd say "Your guy got killed, grandpa."

"Don't you worry about those little guys, Fernando. They don't matter. Only the king matters," The old man touched the king with his bony finger. "When the king dies, the game is over."

Sucre didn't think much of the king. The king could hardly move. He was always guarded, penned in. A line of pieces was set up all around to go down for him. The queen was the one to watch out for. The one who could do anything, go anywhere. But the queen did it all for the king. If he went down, if he got tipped over by one of those bony hands, it was all over. The black queen made a sideways move. The other old man grumbled. As everything was quiet again, Sucre knew it would be a long time before the next move. A truck passed, wheels cut through water with a crash drawing Sucre's attention from the game.

"I bet you play chess, Fish," Sucre said as he turned over on his stomach. He looked down at Michael from the top bunk.

Michael was huddled on the floor. He had been working on another one of his tools, grinding it till it matched a funny looking part of his tattoo. Michael just looked at Sucre because the chess comment came out of nowhere.

"I bet you do," Sucre accused.

"I know the game," Michael said with a smile. "You're not going to break out a chess board, are you? I'm kind of busy."

"I don't play. I just watch. And you know what I see? I think I see myself on the board. I'm that little guy in the front row, the pawn."

"We're all pawns here, Sucre," Michael said. He got serious, like he was thinking about something very specific. Probably something about his plan.

"No. I can see the board. I know what's what," Sucre persisted.

Michael pulled himself out of his own thoughts and turned to Sucre. He got that look he got when he was going to explain something.

"Okay. Do you remember what happens when a pawn reaches the other side? When he hits the other end of the chessboard?" Michael asked.

Sucre grimaced as he thought about it.

"Ai, I do. He turns into the queen, the most powerful piece."

"Right. Or one of the other powerful pieces," Michael said. He was intent on his work again.

"Yeah, but that hardly ever happens," Sucre complained.

"Happens when I play," Michael said without raising his eyes from the metal he was shaping.

"I knew you played chess. I knew it. You are the type, aren't you."

Sucre lay back on his bunk with his arms folded behind his head. He could see Michael hunched over the chess board. His face was blank and pretty, following the moves he hadn't yet made and that his opponent hadn't yet made. On the board, Sucre saw all of them. The Pope, Bellick, and the guards were on one side. Bob, the dead guard, was off the board. He was tipped over on his side with the pieces that got sacrificed. On the other side, Sucre saw Abruzzi - the bishop, C-Note - the rook, and T-Bag - the knight making those crooked moves. He saw himself walking his way across the board, one square at a time. He was trying to reach the end of the board with all those pieces set up against him. Maybe in Michael's hands, they might make it to the other side, or some of them might. But Michael was there too, on the board with the rest of them. He had put himself in the game. As the queen, he was moving in all directions. He could go anywhere, get to anyone. But he could get sacrificed too. Finally, Sucre saw Linc, hobbled, taking those short steps, one square at a time. The whole game all about him.

  
  


The End


End file.
